


Seasons of Love

by finwritesthings



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff and Angst, M/M, also the lance/keith thing isn't a huge part of the plot, but not really, most of the characters aside from lance are pretty briefly mentioned, sorta cause it has a happy ending, sorta season 6 spoilers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 07:36:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13899375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finwritesthings/pseuds/finwritesthings
Summary: As the seasons' pass, home becomes more and more distant. Lance chases memories long gone.





	Seasons of Love

His hands shook with anticipation, or perhaps it was the cold, he wasn’t sure as the winter air bit as his skin, “This is it. You’re finally here after everything. After everything you’ve been through. After all this time.” Lance was glad to see the same brick he had known for so much of his life, the same weathered porch, the same door, peeling with paint as it always did in the winter. Lance let out a shaky breath, set his shoulders, unlocked the door.

 

_ ~ _

 

_ Lance closed his eyes, thinking of the cool wind of late March back on Earth. He missed that. He missed a lot of things. The rain, the icy ocean foam as it curled around his ankles, the sand sliding between his toes. Lance missed the ocean herself, most of all. The way she raged during storms, harsh and unstoppable. The calm ebb and flow on days as clear as the water itself. The never-ending blue as far as the eye could see. The air smelled of brine as the ocean’s distinct salt waters filled the air. His mind stuttered: is that what the ocean smelled like? _

  
  


_ Lance felt a nudge against his shoulder, turning to see Keith staring up at his old lion. Lance traced the outline of Keith’s profile as they stood there in silence. In hindsight, Lance had always known Keith was pretty, but for so long it had felt like he was losing at something, some war within himself if he ever admitted it. Now, though, he felt like he was suppressing some part of himself to not tell Keith how pretty he was, each and every day. _

 

_ “You okay there, sharpshooter?” Keith’s face was drawn, concerned. Lance still stumbled over Keith’s utter awareness of Lance: able to tell when something was off without even looking at Lance directly. He struggled with words, how do you tell someone that your chest feels like it’s collapsing as you desperately grasp onto memories of times long past. Finally, he settled: words weren’t the best choice right now. So Lance hummed his confirmation; however, it apparently sounded as hollow as Lance felt: Keith’s eyes burned with emotions. _

 

_ Lance wanted to drop it, needed to drop. He couldn’t talk about it right now. He’d break as soon as the first word left his mouth. So he didn’t, “I’m just fine, Quiche~” Lance waggled his eyebrows, as he was so prone to do. He hoped, prayed, that poking fun at his boyfriend would be enough of a distraction. _

 

_ It was, “I hate you.” Keith’s expression was flat, void of all emotion. Lance had learned Keith was actually quite the actor. _

 

_ “That’s a straight-up lie, and you know it.” _

 

_ “Unfortunately, you’re wrong, I’d have to be straight for that to be true.” Lance’s laugh echoed through the room, muffling as Lance buried his face in Keith’s shoulder. He could feel Keith’s smile press into his hair. _

 

_ It was nice, being held in Keith’s arms, the warmth of his smile against Lance’s hair, the cool fabric of his suit on Lance’s cheek. Like the rays of the sun, warming him to the core as he drifted through the waters. It was really nice. _

 

_ ~ _

 

_ Summer was hell. At least, Lance thought it was summer. It was so hard to keep track of time out here, but he grasped desperately at any form of Earth that he could. Whatever time it was though, Lance wanted it to end. His body ached for a moment of peace, a moment free of battles and team arguments over the next battle and tense bodies after each argument ending without solutions. When Lance didn’t want to cry, he wanted to scream. He couldn’t stand the constant weight around everyone; it was the complete opposite of home, where everything was warm and welcoming. Lance realized, with jarring clarity, he thought of home a lot less these days. His heart still ached for it, though. _

 

_ Lance thought of flowers. The ones his mum tended to in her garden, the ones he braided through his sisters’ hair, the ones he plucked - despite the scolding he knew he would receive - when he had a new crush at school. Lance’s mind grasped to recall the texture of each petal, the gentle tug as he plucked it from the core, the way they slipped through his fingers with strands of hair. It was hard, just as remembering anything had become. As more and more time stretched on, the memories grew quieter, more blurred, harder to grasp and hold onto. And man was he ever desperate for something to hold onto. Lance missed it all so much, he had learned to rely on those memories, but how do you rely on something that’s no longer there? _

 

_ ~ _

 

_ Lance had lost all sense of time, distantly he remembered Pidge saying it was fall back on Earth. It didn’t matter though: Lance had accepted that he wouldn’t be going back. He was going to spend the rest of his life in space, was going to die in space, a paladin of Voltron, a hero. What value does the title of "hero" have when you can’t share it with people who mean the world, the universe, to you? _

 

_ Lance used to fight for them, for his family - he never told anyone though. Now, Lance fought for his friends, his teammates. Not because they were his motivation, but because he had finally realized they really did rely on him: he couldn’t abandon them. _

 

_ Lance knew they noticed, the way he clutched at his arms as Pidge and Hunk took time to have fun: to push away the darkness surrounding their roles in the war. The way Lance stared out into the stars, late at night with Coran at his side. The way each compliment came out hollow as he spoke to Allura. The way he’d stopped looking at Shiro as a hero and more of a tired man. The way Lance shook with silent sobs at night when he lay next to Keith. _

 

_ Lance didn’t miss them anymore: how do you miss something you can’t remember? _

 

_ ~ _

  
Lance heard the cries before he saw their faces, but that was enough. Things came rushing back before his mother even had a chance to come round the corner. He knew how’d she smell, the feel of her clothes on his cheek. He knew how the kitchen table would feel worn but also warm. He knew the texture of each siblings hair. He knew the warmth of his father’s arms.  _ Lance knew how the petals felt and what he’d been fighting for all this time. _

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for a sprint and I'm really proud of it? I like my description of emotions. I had some lovely people read over it and give me critiques as well, which is much appreciated and very helpful. Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated!


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